Fragile Shard 12. The Everlasting City
The city’s bustling pulse gradually eased after a tempestuous day — fatigued merchants dismantled their tents, gendarmes dispersed beggars and the homeless from the squares, and cleaning robots leisurely swept the worn paving stones, emitting a soft tune of steam. The bustling life of the day surrendered to a tranquil and measured night routine.
Amidst the silence, an incessant, monotonous hum emanated from the massive steam engines concealed deep within the city’s core. To this sound and the ever-present gentle vibrations caused by the city’s constant movement, the inhabitants had grown accustomed since their childhood — it was the local equivalent of silence.
Part-con-Divor gazed absently at the landscape slowly passing before his eyes. During this time of year, the city typically journeyed southward, aiming to visit as many trading cities as possible before the winter arrived. Foremost among them was the enigmatic Faceless Station, nestled within the very heart of the Faceless Wasteland. Nevertheless, as of late, fewer people were willing to engage in trade with the City. The colossal ambulatory structure unsettled people across most countries, and not everyone was eager to interact with the peculiar denizens of the enigmatic City. Only the Faceless Station still consented to exchange goods with the City, being the most tolerant of all the settlements. Yet, even here, this year’s exchange had proven remarkably unprofitable and meager.
For the past three weeks, the surrounding landscapes had grown exceedingly dreary and monotonous — red, cracked soil, withered trees, and ochre rocks. However, at last, a glimmer of consolation appeared — the wasteland, so utterly faceless, came to an end, and the City now traversed the fertile fringes of the Light Kingdom. Everywhere one looked, joyous sights awaited — vast green meadows interlaced with diligently cultivated wheat fields, farther still, ancient forests now adorned in autumn’s crimson hues, and on the horizon, the Fragrant Mountains stood tall, their peaks enshrouded in a gentle blue haze.
Part was once again grateful for his fortunate acquisition of property within the City. Not only had he acquired the house nearly free of charge, but its location was also exceptionally favorable. Situated in the northeastern quadrant, it stood almost at the bow of the City, where all noxious odors, smoke, and soot produced by numerous factories and steam engines were swept away by the City’s continuous motion. Furthermore, the house was at the very forefront, allowing some of its rooms to offer a view of the outside world. This led Part, at one time, to acquire an abandoned ruin of a small factory and embark on its restoration.
Upon moving into his new mansion, his first undertaking involved reconstructing a small brick tower that perched atop the building. On its first level, he arranged an office; on the second, a bedroom; and under the roof, a laboratory. The laboratory’s walls were now entirely glazed, providing a breathtaking view of both the outside world and the City itself. It was there that Part spent most of his time.
Naturally, he did not neglect the main part of the building. Completing its restoration was the primary condition for acquiring real estate at such a bargain price (Part paid the city administration a mere thirty thousand gears — during good times, he earned that much in a week). Since the main part of the building was already prepared, he did not immediately turn his attention to interior decoration. He focused first on reinforcing and restoring the damaged load-bearing floors, ensuring the house would not collapse at an inopportune moment. As a result, the mansion appeared relatively neat from the outside, while its interiors remained absolutely, gloriously dreadful. Vast mounds of broken furniture cluttered the numerous rooms, once residential, now resembling an abandoned warehouse. Moths had devoured the old carpets, and voluminous pillars of dust lingered in the expansive factory spaces, illuminated only by dim sunlight struggling through grimy windows. In essence, Mr. Part-con-Divor tailored his home to cater to his personal needs, mindful of his standing within the City, and with neighbors, thus avoiding any unwarranted complaints — his house was restored and presented a decent appearance, and anything beyond that was each individual’s private affair.
Part glanced at the watch embedded in his right hand and nodded to himself — it was time to depart. Descending the spiral staircase to the tower’s base, he deftly manipulated the lock on the massive door before navigating through the labyrinth of debris and crumbling furniture to exit the mansion. With a precise gesture, he sealed the door and, tucking his bowler hat over his eyes, hastened into the twilight of a narrow alley that snaked toward the city center.
Through the narrow gaps between the houses of the first line, a thick bluish fog seeped into the City from the outside world, moist and redolent with pine needles, meadow grasses, and freshly cut hay. The orange light of gas lamps, scattered all over the streets, refracted and dispersed in the fog, creating an ethereal dance of shadows and reflections.
Part embodied one of those shadows — indistinct contours, fluid, unnatural, and undulating in movement. On any given night, he would undoubtedly startle a passerby if someone had decided to venture through the alleys of the Old City. However, to the good fortune of all, respectable citizens preferred staying in their warm and comfortable homes that night, leaving Part-con-Divor to move undisturbed.
The purpose of his nocturnal stroll lay in the very heart of the City, and reaching it was far more challenging than one might assume. Firstly, he lacked a map of the inner city — or rather, such a map did not exist. The City’s owners vigilantly guarded against anyone gaining too much knowledge about its spatial structure. Hence, he had to rely solely on signs posted at random corners. Yet, searching for a sign that read, “To the heart of the City — turn right, two hundred meters,” proved futile. The only clue Part possessed at this stage was a rather vague reference — a century-old oak tree standing at the center of a square, encircled by five gas lamps.
Admittedly, the information merchant from the Cloudy City, who had disclosed this landmark for a princely sum, might have deserved a lashing, at best. Centuries-old oaks adorned every square and alley, every courtyard and street corner in the city center, and each was accompanied by a ring of lamps. However, the light sources differed — electric, gas, magic, firefly, sponge, and jellyfish lanterns coexisted side by side.
Parth dedicated the following three hours to his quest. In truth, one could say he had quite a restful time. He wandered through all-night bars and cafes, imbibing at least four mugs of cherry beer and a couple of liters of exquisite, strong coffee, and consumed at least fifty donuts — from the daintiest, pink-iced delicacies to gargantuan sugar-coated monsters. Thus, he navigated the city center in a spiral, keeping to the left side of the streets, assuming he was gradually approaching the core.
Despite his relentless efforts, the necessary combination of landmarks remained elusive, and the approaching dawn only heightened Part’s frustration. As the bluish-black sky adorned itself with a pinkish pre-dawn glow, Part found himself on the verge of giving up. However, just around the next corner, he stumbled upon a small, inviting square, bordered on three sides by narrow, multi-colored three-story houses. This cozy nook seemed almost forgotten, the kind of place one would rarely stumble upon intentionally — only by accidental wandering could one discover it. Yet, what captured Part’s attention was the captivating centerpiece of the square: a majestic composition formed by a thick, gnarled oak tree and four and a half lanterns (one of which had a damaged gas burner but remained positioned alongside the others).
Part, scarcely believing his eyes, hastened toward the tree, running his hand across its rough, uneven bark and inhaling the crisp morning air. The fragrance of early autumn frost, damp greenery, and a touch of decaying leaves — a scent unique to the season — stirred a sense of reverence in his heart, a blend of gentle melancholy and the anticipation of something momentous, grand, and luminous. This morning, in the heart of the ancient city, beneath a lilac predawn sky adorned with soft, pinkish feathers of clouds, promised Part-con-Divor something truly extraordinary.
He carefully examined the oak, tugged at various branches and knots, hoping for good fortune, then turned his attention to the lanterns. An entrance must be concealed somewhere here, but where? Part felt the creeping despair of uncertainty when, suddenly, as the first rosy disc of the sun peeked from behind one of the peaked rooftops, luck smiled upon him once more. A narrow strip of wood was snatched by the soft, diffused light of the sun, strangely refracting it. Part swiftly pressed against it, and instantly, a trapdoor descended.
The descent into the darkness was as prolonged as it was abrupt. The desk, akin to a ball, bounced off the trampoline net at the bottom of the well, rolled in the air, and landed face-first on the springy surface. Part lay still for a moment, listening to his senses and attempting to steady his wildly beating heart. Satisfied with the intactness of his limbs, he carefully slid down from the trampoline. Gazing upward, he found the trapdoor had already sealed shut, leaving only the faint violet flickering of jellyfish lanterns clinging to the walls around the trampoline to illuminate the narrow column of the well.
With limited options to explore, Part embarked on the only available path — a distant corridor dimly lit by soft purple lanterns. Shivering, he picked up his bowler hat from the floor, brushed away the dust, and secured it back in its rightful place, pulling it down even further over his eyes. It felt more comforting and secure — at least according to his feelings. Taking another glance around, he found nothing of interest and cautiously proceeded along the broad corridor, immersed in its shimmering twilight.
He walked for a considerable duration — perhaps three hours or even longer — yet he refrained from checking his watch for reasons known only to him. Gradually, he became accustomed to the enveloping darkness and the ever-present purple islands of light floating by. The floor remained flat, devoid of cracks or steps, gently sloping downward; the corridor meandered slowly, leading deep into the City. This extended, monotonous stroll lulled Part, and he traversed most of the path without any intrusive thoughts or emotions. This unexpected state of meditation subdued all the anxieties and restless anticipations that had plagued him for months. For the first time in a while, he felt a sense of tranquility and peace — despite walking through the depths of darkness. He knew he was nearing the goal he had pursued diligently and relentlessly and that this objective was unyieldingly his to claim. This realization lifted a heavy burden from his heart.
After some time, Part observed that the corridor was growing brighter. The lanterns drew closer together, and the darkness gradually surrendered to a faint, flickering purple glow. Finally, after a few hundred steps, the corridor terminated abruptly.
The desk found itself in a spacious chamber reminiscent of a cathedral — the walls, constructed from smooth white stone, gracefully ascended to form an encompassing dome. Multi-colored lanterns, positioned at varying heights, diffused a gentle radiance throughout the hall, enveloping it in a harmonious glow. The play of light created captivating reflections of diverse shapes and colors, intertwining and mingling in the swaying air.
However, what truly struck Part was the peculiar fragrance permeating the hall — a bewildering mixture evoking distant memories. The salty sea air intertwined with the scent of heather-covered hills, flowing into the crisp chill of mountain streams and blending with the damp essence of coniferous forests. Unexpectedly, a stream of cozy and homely aromas permeated the air — cinnamon, slightly stale apples, dried daisies, bunches of basilica suspended from the ceiling, dusty old books, freshly laundered linen, and freshly baked pastries — all intermingled with other indefinable elements. This wild amalgamation resonated in Part’s heart, evoking an overwhelming palette of emotions that compelled him to kneel, fearing he might falter. He began to breathe slowly, savoring each breath, gradually acclimating to the extraordinary scents of this enigmatic place.
Soon, he adapted so fully that he could raise his head, stand up, and move towards the hall’s center. The objective of his months-long quest lay right before him. Amidst the hall’s expanse, without any pedestal or elevation, stood a small glass stele, no more than one and a half meters tall. The stele refracted and reflected the multi-colored lantern lights, appearing as if it emanated its own ethereal glow.
And atop the stele rested a small black pyramid. Unlike the glass stand, the pyramid’s smooth, polished stone did not reflect any light — it seemed to absorb it instead. At first, Part experienced a slight uneasiness, but it quickly transformed into an entirely different sentiment. Paradoxically, he felt a profound sense of compassion for the small stone pyramid — such heartfelt sympathy that large, warm tears streamed down his cheeks. The part could envision himself in the pyramid’s place, almost becoming one with it — feeling its solitude and yearning in this magnificent, albeit solitary, hall. The weight of her responsibility weighed on his shoulders — to power a colossal mechanism, an entire gigantic City that had roamed the world for countless centuries. Her yearning to escape this splendid yet majestic captivity was so potent that Part, sharing in her feelings, found himself unable to remain on his feet and knelt before the stele.
Once his senses returned, he recognized their faintness and fragility compared to the profound emotions swirling within this mysterious, magical stone pyramid. And then he comprehended that this time, his pursuit of a scientific revelation capable of astonishing the world held little significance. Whether the City’s energy source was a minuscule piece of stone, contrary to everyone’s beliefs, or if this information could be sold for exorbitant sums was inconsequential. Even the fate of the entire City now rested within his grasp — none of it mattered.
The sole imperative was that he could not leave the pyramid there to languish in solitude and imprisonment. In some recess of his consciousness, he realized the potential consequences of his actions, understanding that his feelings and impulses were entirely irrational — yet he couldn’t resist the call.
Still on one knee, he reached up and touched the smooth surface of the stone with his fingers. Contrary to his expectations, it felt warm and strangely alive. Part gently ran his fingers along the pyramid’s sides as if soothing it — or perhaps himself. At last, he performed a simple, composed gesture with his fingers, dislodging the lower face of the pyramid from the stele’s platform.
The city did not collapse, nor did it disintegrate into enormous boulders. There were no cries of fear or tears from thousands of inhabitants. None of that occurred.
The city simply vanished as if it had never existed. No worn pavements, no ancient trees, and lanterns, no narrow streets or towering houses.
Part found himself on his knees in the middle of a vast field, dew dampening the grass. In his hand, he held a black stone pyramid, warm and pulsating as though it were alive. He slowly stood up and looked around. Where should he go now? What should he do? All his possessions had vanished along with the City, and he wasn’t even sure of his current location.
Strangely, there was no sense of guilt or regret for what he had done. For reasons unknown to him, Part-con-Divor didn’t doubt the rightness of his actions for a second. Even the thought of thousands of lives lost did not disturb him.
Suddenly, with utmost clarity, he comprehended his next course of action. Slowly bringing the pyramid to his eyes, he scrutinized it one final time before pressing it firmly against his forehead.
The smooth, warm stone quivered with greater intensity, heating up, yet Part did not retract the pyramid from his forehead. Gradually, it seemed to melt into his skin, blending with flesh and bone, becoming a part of him.
Soon, his hand touched his forehead, and he lowered his hand from his face. There, on the center of his palm, was a deep mark left by the top of the pyramid.
No new or strange sensations manifested themselves, leaving him feeling bewildered. He understood that something had changed and that nothing would ever be the same again, yet he could not yet grasp the full extent of it.
The man-city stood amid a wide field, bathed in the crimson hues of sunset.
He had to head south. In its new form, the City would fare far better than the old one, now antiquated and outmoded. It was a completely different era and hiding and disguising was now essential.
The city’s constant hum gradually subsided after a tumultuous day — fatigued merchants disassembled their tents, gendarmes dispersed beggars and the homeless from the squares, and cleaning robots leisurely swept the worn paving stones, their steam whistling softly. The bustling activities of the day surrendered to a tranquil and measured night routine.
Only the incessant, monotonous beats of the heart, concealed deep within the city’s core, echoed through the empty narrow streets, green avenues, and tiled roofs. Yet, to this sound and the perpetual vibrations generated by the city’s constant movement, all the inhabitants had grown accustomed since their childhood — it was the local equivalent of silence.
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“Fragile Shards: Whispers of Transience” is an evocative anthology that spans 15 years of the author’s writing journey. From mystical adventures to dark introspections, these tales traverse vivid landscapes, offering a captivating glimpse into the ever-changing tapestry of human emotions and perceptions. Each story is a unique shard, reflecting the complexity of life’s experiences and the resilience of hope.
